


Bleeding True

by esteefee



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Established Relationship, Kink: knife-play, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-02
Updated: 2009-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-02 08:45:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronon asks for something he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleeding True

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: kink (knife-play).

There are three different blades Ronon uses almost daily. One is for eating, one is for killing, and one is to shave around his beard—the edge on that blade is extra fine, far too fine to use in battle or it would be uselessly damaged after a single blow.

He holds that perfectly honed blade over the smooth, fresh-washed skin of Sheppard's lower back and whispers, "Now."

Detecting a faint tensing, Ronon waits for it to fade into relaxed trust, and then cuts one smooth, double curve from below John's lowest rib to the swell of his round ass.

Blood beads in the wake of Ronon's cut. A perfect depth—the blade is so fine Ronon only had to use the lightest pressure.

Sheppard doesn't make a sound, not until Ronon bends over him and licks back along the trail. And the noise Sheppard makes, one of disbelieving pleasure, makes heat throb in Ronon's hardened cock. He blows on the damp, red line and watches goose bumps rise on Sheppard's skin.

Ronon wasn't sure Sheppard would like this; was pretty sure he was just letting Ronon do it because he'd asked. Because Ronon hardly ever asked anything of him.

"I want to cut you," Ronon had said, and Sheppard's eyes had widened for a moment before he nodded, a single jerk of his head. He hadn't asked any questions, either.

Now Ronon says, "Wraith bleed black." With a deft hand he matches the first cut with a second, almost perfectly, so the set of curves looks like the beginning of a red wave.

Sheppard makes a whimpering sound and shifts one knee upward on the bed. Reaching beneath Sheppard's hip, Ronon grasps his hard cock and adjusts it for him, since Sheppard can't—Ronon's has bound him too well.

He licks up the blood trail again and hears Sheppard gasp.

"I cut myself sometimes, when I was a runner. Cut myself to make sure I was still bleeding true," Ronon whispers.

_But this is better._ The crimson is so deep and pretty against the untanned skin of Sheppard's ass. Ronon makes the third cut an equal distance from the others, so excited now he ends the cut just a little too soon—stopping right before his hand starts to shake.

"God. Ronon," Sheppard whispers unevenly, no lazy drawl now. Ronon bends and rubs his cheek against the new wound, marking himself in Sheppard's blood.

It's not enough, and it's too much. Ronon can't take anymore. "I'm gonna fuck you now," he says, raising his head, and he sees Sheppard's wrists twist in their bindings. "But first—" Ronon puts down the knife, setting it on the square white gym towel on his nightstand, and then spreads Sheppard's cheeks with his palms.

"Oh! God!" Sheppard jerks when Ronon flicks his tongue against his hole and then plants a kiss there in mouth-worship of their connection, of the trust between them.

He prepares Sheppard with the slick stuff Teyla gave him, her eyebrows raised in a question she wouldn't ask. Ronon's eyes are torn between the red curves of his cuts and the way Sheppard opens to his fingers with a soft moan. Then Ronon holds the head of his cock against Sheppard's hole and pushes in.

So sweet, the way Sheppard gives warmly, enfolding him in heat and binding muscle. And the way Sheppard flexes around him, helping to work himself down onto Ronon's shaft.

"Yeah, that's it," Ronon says. He grips Sheppard's hips, one thumb just covering the top of the far left cut mark, and he pulls Sheppard further onto his cock.

Sheppard groans into the pillow, his fingers clenching on his bindings. "Go. Go," he mutters hoarsely, and Ronon does—fucks into him with long strokes in the rhythm Sheppard has taught him he likes best. Sheppard has taught him so many things—about trust, and about belonging. Ronon brushes his thumb hard against the cuts he's made in Sheppard's skin, and when Sheppard gasps again in pleasure, Ronon thinks maybe he's taught Sheppard something, too.

"Yes, yes, God. Please, Ronon," Sheppard says, his hands twisting again, his back arching to meet Ronon's thrusts. Ronon slides his right hand down Sheppard's belly and cups his cock in his fist. "God, yeah," Sheppard pants, working himself into Ronon's fist and then lunging back onto Ronon's cock.

His excitement overwhelms Ronon's control, and he thrusts fast and hard as he begins to come. He drops his weight onto his left hand, suddenly weak with the pleasure rushing through him, and his cock jerks inside Sheppard's warmth. Ronon feels the pulse of his blood pounding, pounding, and he pushes in one last time as deeply as he can.

Sheppard is still waiting, trembling with need beneath him, when Ronon recovers enough to start stroking his cock. He feels the beginnings of it, a fluttering of Sheppard's muscles ringing the base of Ronon's softening shaft, and then Sheppard groans deeply and comes in Ronon's hand. Ronon strokes him, and presses a grateful kiss on the back of Sheppard's neck while he shudders through his orgasm.

Then they both sag down to the bed, and Ronon's hand ends up trapped beneath them. Sheppard makes a displeased sound, and Ronon chuckles hoarsely as he pulls himself free.

"Sorry," he says, and kneels up to retrieve the knife. There's a line of blood on edge of the blade, and Ronon wipes it clean on his thigh before cutting Sheppard's bonds. Ronon thinks he'll keep the leather scraps his drawer, wrapped in the blood-stained square of towel, for memory.

Sheppard lies limp, still trembling slightly while Ronon carefully applies some ointment to the cuts. He doesn't want Sheppard to scar. That's not what this is about. And maybe Sheppard will let him do it again, sometime; Ronon wants his canvas to remain perfect.

"C'mere," Ronon says when he's done, pulling Sheppard onto his side and into his arms.

Sheppard makes a sleepy protest and turns his head, rubbing it against Ronon's cheek.

"Okay?" Ronon asks.

"Yeah. More than okay," Sheppard whispers hoarsely.

Ronon smiles, and then they settle together, two double curves on the white sheets.


End file.
